AllFreeNovel
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I groan in frustration, tossing and turning in my bedsheets, unsure of how to fix the problem. I’d already tried downing a few glasses of milk, listening to parts of a boring audiobook, and letting the TV drone on in the background as a form of mildly entertaining white noise. I then stare up at my apartment ceiling, completely out of ideas, my mind going off to places on its own as sleep continues to evade me.
Alyssa.
Alyssa. Alyssa. Alyssa.
It’s like a heartbeat.
I don’t know why, but images of her performing on stage come rushing back to me, her hips shaking in time to the music, her hair wildly moving back and forth to each song. I remember the way she looked at me backstage too, like she’d gone back to being a much smaller version of herself, nervously asking me if I thought she’d done okay tonight.
Unthinking, I lower a hand toward my boxers, my palm lightly adjusting my cock underneath the fabric. A few seconds later my hand slips underneath the fabric itself, my palm soon wrapping around my hardened shaft. I idly stroke myself, as images of Alyssa continue to dance through my head, the images seeming to always cap off with the way she laughs, the way she smiles with her entire face.
“Alyssa…Alyssa…” My breaths come out quick as I continue to stroke my shaft, thinking of her the entire time. I groan, my mind drifting somewhere new but familiar, memories from years and years ago seeping into my brain. There was a beautiful woman who I’d met on the beach while visiting some of my friends at their seaside apartment. I’d invited her back to the apartment with me, and after everyone had shared a few glasses of wine, she’d casually suggested that we should shareher,too.
And as I think back to what it felt like to share a woman, what it felt like to watch her overcome with pleasure and yet still begging for my cock, the woman’s face shifts until her features perfectly resemble Alyssa’s, her body shifting to Alyssa’s frame, too.
This is exactly how I want her.
I want Alyssa on top of me, shamelessly riding my cock, while her mouth is wide open for another. I want cum to be leaking from between her thighs, but instead of cleaning herself, she’s filled with another shaft, soon full of a second man’s cum, too. I want her naked and desperate for more, her body shuddering as she orgasms, her pussy getting tighter and tighter around my cock—
“Fuck!” I groan as I start to come, strings of white spilling down over my fingers, images of Alyssa riding my cock playing on a loop in the back of my head. “Fuck.” I then quietly repeat the phrase a few moments later, moving my hand away from my boxers, my breaths finally calming down in my chest.
What the hell is wrong with me?
How’d I go from trying to get Rhys to get the hell over Alyssa to jerking off to the thought of her taking my cock?
Is she some kind of witch or something?
I groan again, sleep feeling like it’s finally within reach, and turn toward one of the pillows on my bed. If Alyssa Smith is a witch, I’m not going to let her get under my skin. After how much grief I’ve given Rhys over the years for almost fucking up our chances over a girl, there’s no way I’m going to be the one to blow our shot at fame now that it’s finally here.
I just need to find a way to resist the utter temptation of Alyssa, and I’m hoping that if I stay far enough away from her, the rest of it isn’t going to be too hard.
Chapter 8
Alyssa
Staying away from Rhys is the hardest thingever.
I know it’s for the best, and after our first concert, I’m resolved to keep my career going down a stable route. After replaying the concert in my mind again and again, I am addicted to how it felt to feel the crowd reacting to everything I did, how they danced and shouted along to songs thatIwrote; the energy they sent me, I sent right back to them, and together we spiraled up and up and up. It was the greatest feeling in the world.
It made me realize that being on stage is something that I was born to do with my life, and I can’t let that break or fade away, especially not because I have a stupid crush on a guitarist.
Seriously, how cliché would that be?
Still, I can’t pretend like I’m not turned on by him 24/7, practically blushing whenever he rolls up his sleeves revealing his strong tattooed forearms, or his unbuttoned shirt drapes open for a moment and shows his washboard abs. My mind flashes right back to being underneath him in bed. Is he doing that on purpose I wonder?
The only time I am relieved of the torture is the time I get to spend working with Van on lyrics for our upcoming album, when we are squirreled away in another part of the studio building.
The weird thing is, I’m sensing there’s something new happening with Van and me, too. I can’t explain it, but it feels like we’re actually approaching some level of connection, which is so strange since just yesterday I would’ve sworn Van hated me. I’m grateful for this sudden change of heart though, since it makes working on lyrics with him so much easier.
“What were you like in high school?” Van asks, taking me right out of my thoughts. We’re sitting in his songwriting space, and he’s staring over at me with an intense gaze.
“High school?” I hum for a moment before I reply. “I don’t know…I wasn’t popular or anything like that. I mostly just kept to my group of friends.”
“Did you have a boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend is a tough one to define.” I chuckle. “I went on a few dates with a few guys, sure, but they all turned out to be duds. I’m not too sad about it though. I’m not sure I’d really have anything to write about if I’d met my Prince Charming in ninth grade.”
“Music fodder.” Van quietly nods.
